


the stroke of midnight

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: Dragon Age Codexes [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color, Genderqueer Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color, Multi, Physical Disability, Polyamory, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Herald of Andraste gets to go with her bald boyfriend to the Winter Palace and dance the night away, and her little brother is stuck at Skyhold pouting.  Seolta Lavellan wants nothing more than to play the noble for a night with his lovers, and thanks to a certain elven archer, he just might get the chance.</p><p>But can this really work out for him?  Can he really be a worthy partner to the likes of Dorian Pavus and Vivienne de Fer?  Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea... a Cinderella story that tells the tale of one young man's journey to accept himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stroke of midnight

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The name of the male protag is Seolta, pronounced shool-tu. But most people in the ingame world call him Soulta, since practically no one knows how to say it right. So either way really.
> 
> 2) I call Haven "Sanctuary" at one point. This is because I've heavily reworked the whole Inquisition thing in my canon. It won't be much of an issue here, but the long and short of it is, the organization at work here is not called the Inquisition, it does not play the same role, and its more peaceful.

_  
_

_seolta lavellan_

 

* * *

 

 

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, sis!”  Seolta all but pouted and stomped his foot like a petulant child.  “Why not?  And don’t say ‘because I said so’, I’m not six anymore.”

“Because I’m in charge?”  She began, holding out a hand and counting on her fingers.  “Because it’s a terrible idea, because this whole thing is a shitfest waiting to explode anyway... take your pick?”

Behind her, Dorian Pavus was snickering into his hand, and Seolta glowered at him.  On the other side of his sister, Vivienne de Fer was smiling, which was her own version of uproaring laughter.  “Great, you’ve turned both of my lovers against me.  Are you happy?”

“No, Seolta, I’m not happy.”  Sighing, Thuleka stepped forward, putting her hands on his shoulders.  “I would take you if I could, but the Winter Palace is going to be a disaster zone already.  Dorian and Vivienne both know what they’re doing with this sort of thing, but they’ll be busy enough keeping me out of trouble.  I know you, little brother.  You won’t be able to keep your mouth shut!”

The man couldn’t help his fallen expression.  “Then why is the apostate hobo going?”

Everyone glanced to the last member of the group, Solas, who had been conspicuously quiet until then.  His eyes widened in feigned innocence. 

“Well, he’s...”  Thuleka began with a blush.  “He’s seen this stuff before, in the Fade.”

“Right...”  Eyes narrowing, Seolta glared at his fellow elf.  It wasn’t that he didn’t like the man - in fact, he admired him greatly, and would be eternally in his debt given Solas saved his sister’s life.  But that didn’t mean he was an idiot.  Something was weird about Baldy and his all-knowing-ness, and Seolta was going to find out what.

“Look, I promise we’ll have a party of our own when this is all over, alright?”

The elf gave a tired nod, barely paying attention, as his sister ruffled his hair like he was still half her size.  She stepped away, moving towards Solas, and when she did, Dorian and Vivienne both approached him.

“Don’t look so glum,” Dorian started with a gentle smile.  “I’ll snatch a souvener for you.”

“You will not.”  Vivienne glared at him out of the corner of her eyes, before turning a gentler look upon her lover.  “There is little of this event that will be pleasant, sweetheart.  These balls may be glamorous, but it is just that - a glamour.  An illusion painted over the nasty truth.”

“Still a pretty illusion.”  Seolta mumbled, but he put on a smile for her.  “It’s alright.  I’ll just wait around for you guys to come back and regale me with the details.”

And so he stood, watching them go, envy running hot through his veins.

* * *

See, unlike Thuleka, Seolta grew up in the city.

The city of Denerim had been his home for almost 10 years, before he got up the courage to run off.  During that time, all he ever did was look up, up from the squalor and shit of the lower city to the beauty that sat on the hilltops above. 

His father worked in the palace.  Seolta often went with him during work after mom died, since there was no one else to watch him.  He used to climb onto the roof of the servants quarters and watched from afar as the humans had their parties and get togethers.  They were always smiling and laughing and dancing.  How nice it must’ve been.  It seemed like life there was so much better than it was anywhere else.

There was a time when all he wanted was to make it to that upper level, to those beautiful parties with all those elegant people.  That was, of course, a dream shattered by the reality of his elven heritage.  It didn’t take him long to learn the harsh lesson that the closest he’d ever get to being at those events was acting as a waiter at one.

It was that knowledge, and his father’s accidental slip about his having _an actual sister_ in a Dalish clan, that had him run away.  One summer, Clan Lavellan came close to Denerim.  Once his father was good and passed out drunk, Seolta packed up what little in the world was his, and ran all the way out of town to the woods where the Dalish had been seen.  And promptly fainted upon arrival.

He’d awoken in a panic, desperate to find the one person in the world he could call his, other than his piss poor father.  A sister.  A bond of blood, a connection to his lost mother, someone who might give a shit who he was, where was she?

Then he saw her.  No one had to say a word, he knew it was her, the spitting image of their mother.  A veil of pitch black hair tumbling over her left shoulder, with soft lilac eyes and a warm smile.  Her skin was darker than Seolta’s, a deeper brown that favored their father.

“Is your name Thuleka?”  He’d started, chest heaving.  “Thuleka Mahariel?  I’m a Mahariel, too, my mom was Synna Mahariel and my dad was an asshole - well, our dad, I guess I shouldn’t say that, unless you aren’t Thuleka?  Cause he told me I had a good-for-nothing sister with the Dalish - not that I think you’re good-for-nothing, I’m quoting here -”

He’d fallen silent with shock when she threw her arms around him.

The girl was barely four years older than him, but was much wiser than anyone Seolta had ever met.  He supposed that was what happened when your parents abandoned you to live in a human village.  As much as Seolta loved his mother, he couldn’t reconcile the kind-hearted woman who’d loved him with the thought of her willingly leaving her four year old daughter behind.  The clan had taken care of her, of course, but still... his heart ached for her.

But all that was past, the two siblings were together, and nothing else mattered.  The next twelve years they spent together, inseparable, the best of the clan.  Seolta even took the clan name as his own, abandoning the name of the parents who’d sworn off his beloved sister.  Thuleka, whether out of nostalgia or a misplaced sense of devotion, kept it.

Until the fateful day that Seolta returned from hunting to find his sister had been sent on a suicide mission without him.

* * *

  _“Excuse me,” Seolta tapped a guard on the shoulder.  The man spun round.  “Is this Sanctuary*?”_

_“Yes, it is.”_

_The elf grinned.  “Thanks so much.” Then he moved towards the gate, until a hand held him.  He glanced back._

_“Wait a minute, who are you?  What is your business here?”_

_The tone, not to mention the uninvited hand on his shoulder, made Seolta frown.  “My business is none of your business.”  He retorted, sidestepping out of reach.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me -”_

_“Hey,” Turning, Seolta saw an enormous Qunari running up, and the view was a delight he would have loved to enjoy if he hadn’t realized that said enormous Qunari would easily stop his progress._ Too bad _, Seolta thought,_ I could watch those breasts bounce all day.

_Instead, he snatched his crossbow off his back, aimed into the city, and let fly.  The soldiers around him saw it as an attack, drawing their blades, but by that time Seolta was already airborne.  The bolt had attached to it a long cord, which was released from a device attached to Seolta’s wrist.  Once he felt the bolt hit and take hold, he pushed the button on the inside of his arm, and SWOOSH.  Off he went, cackling with delight, soaring over the skies of Haven._

_Archers were taking aim at him, but Seolta grabbed a knife from his belt and cut the cord, changing direction.  He landed upon the roof of one building, tucking and rolling off and into the snow.  The town seemed centered upon one large church; it looked to be the only truly sturdy building around, so it had to be where prisoners were kept.  Eyes narrowing, Seolta bolted, ignoring the pain racing up his right leg as he ran._

_Soldiers with swords drawn stood in front of the church; that was no problem.  At the last moment, Seolta ducked to the side, and tumbled through a window.  With the shatter of glass and its pinpricks on his skin, he entered the building... only to be surrounded by guards with weapons drawn._

_They dragged him kicking and screaming elven curses into another room with a long table, around which there were gathered a bunch of shems, a few elves, and that big Qunari from before.  Seolta glared at them all, until his eyes fell upon the figure in the center, her back to him._

_“My lady, this man was caught trying to break into the building -”_

_“Let me go, assholes!”_

_Thuleka spun round quick, eyes wide.  “Seolta?”  She took a step forward.  “Let him go!”_

_Stunned, the guards hesitated only a moment before doing as she asked.  Seolta glared at them as he brushed himself off.  Then, he only had eyes for his sister.  Racing to her, he glanced over her, checking her for wounds, malnutrition, sadness, anything._

_“Are you alright?  They haven’t hurt you?  Are they forcing you to stay here?”_

_“No, Seolta, I’m -”_

_“Cause say the word, we’re out of here.  The Clan’s only a few miles away, we can be there by tomorrow.”_

_“Seolta -”_

_“Seriously, are you a prisoner?  Blink twice for yes.”_

_“Who is this man?”_

_For the first time, Seolta noticed the strangers gathered around them, staring at him.  The speaker was a tall human woman with short black hair.  She was pretty cute... too bad she was the enemy.  Seolta made to move between her and his sister, but Thuleka held him back._

_“Cassandra, everyone... this is Seolta, my younger brother.”  Then she turned to him.  “And no, I am not a prisoner.  I’m here because I want to be.  Idiot.” She cuffed the back of his head._

_“Seriously?”  Stunned, the elf blinked.  “But... you love the forest.  I tried to get you to visit Gwaren with me that one time and you said you’d rather dive off a cliff into a pile of pointy rocks.”_

_“That’s...”  Flushing, the woman rubbed the back of her neck.  “not exactly what I said.”_

_“We could barely get you to stand still in one spot, let alone live in the same place for more than a week, but you’re okay living in this big dreary, cold stone prison indefinitely?”_

_When she met his eyes, serious and solemn, and said “Yes”, he actually believed her.  Shock of all shocks._

_“Well, then,” Seolta cleared his throat.  “Obviously, I’m staying, too.”_

_“No, no you’re not.  You’re going home.”_

_Seolta sat down, cross legged, on the floor right in front of her.  “Make me.”_

_The red flush on her face was quickly shifting from embarrassment to anger.  “You are such a child.”_

_“I like him,” A blonde elf with a bow quipped, sitting in the windowsill in the corner.  “Not so bad, for an elf.”_

_Seolta blinked.  “You have looked in a mirror before, right?”_

_“You have a little brother?”  A human woman with an Antivan accent giggled.  “He’s adorable!”_

_“Hey!”  Seolta flushed despite himself.  “I’m not a puppy.”  He glanced to his sister, expecting more of an argument from her.  His eyes widened with concern when he realized her look was no longer angry, but thoughtful._

_“Stand up.”  Thuleka finally said._

_Sweating, Seolta glanced aside.  “... I don’t want to.”_

_“You hurt your leg getting here, didn’t you?”_

_“Look, I was worried!  I was coming to rescue you!”_

_Another elf, leaning on a mage’s staff, looked to him questioningly.  “Clan Lavellan feared for Thuleka’s safety, yet sent only a single elf to recover her?”_

_Seolta’s look darkened.  “Fuck, no, I came by myself, those assholes don’t give a shit.  As far as the elders are concerned about Thuleka, you can keep her.”  The words didn’t really register in his head for a moment, then he froze. “Uh... I mean...”_

_“It’s fine.”  He looked to his sister, and his heart hurt with the resigned heaviness in her eyes.  “I imagined as much.”  Then, with years of practice, he watched the feelings vanish beneath a careful mask, as she leaned down and slid her arms under his shoulders.  “Come on, idiot,” She muttered to her brother.  “Let’s get you looked at.”_

* * *

And so began the sibling adventure in the field of world-saving and political gambling.  There were dragons and explosions and strange spirit boys in big hats, and it was all a lot of fun.  Seolta thought he probably liked it even more than Thuleka did, since he’d always been fond of city life and the bustle of busy towns.

Things like the Winter Palace Masquerade were the type of events Thuleka absolutely hated, and Seolta would have loved to be in on.  And here he was, stuck at Skyhold, pouting on the battlements, while Thuleka ran off with her bald boyfriend to play.

“Stupid ball.”  He griped, tearing into an apple.  Between bites, he grumbled again.  “Stupid sister.”

“Hey, loser,”

Seolta jumped, then flushed in embarrassment.  “What do you want, Sera?”  He turned away, furious at himself for letting his guard down.  This ball shouldn’t upset him that much!  It didn’t matter one bit.  It really didn’t.

The elf frowned.

Sera saw his look and sighed.  “Ran off without you didn’t they?”  She took a seat beside him, legs swinging free in front of her.  “Bunch of bullshit if you ask me.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Stupid rich people lookin’ down their noses at folks like us.”

“Right.”

“Probably should just let that Empress bitch get what’s coming to her.”

“Sure.”

Sera snatched the apple from his hand and took a bite.  He let her.  Despite their somewhat rocky introduction, Sera had come to be a good friend to Seolta during their stay at Skyhold.  They were both ridiculous pranksters, and competitive to a fault.  But Seolta really didn’t feel up to messing around at the moment.

“If you don’t have a point, Sera, just go.”  He grumbled.  “I want to sit and mope.”

“Fine, sit and mope, if you’d rather do that.”  She began to stand, still eating the apple.  “Here I thought you’d want to be off dancing...”

His eyebrows lifted.  “What do you mean?"

“Hmm?”  The elf’s half lidded eyes gazed at him.  “Mean bout what?”

He stood quickly.  “About dancing.  You’re talking about the ball, right?”

Sera smirked.  “Maaaybe.”

“Come out with it, woman!”

“I just thought you looked so pathetic up here, you might enjoy a night out on the town.”  Then she winked at him, and leapt off the battlements.  He was helpless to follow after her.

* * *

 Their first stop was the tailor’s, where only an hour before his sister and her company had left wearing really garish, ugly uniforms.  “Obviously, we aren’t wearing those,” Sera said as they entered.  “For one, we’re going in disguise.  For another they’re fucking ugly.”

“How are we even getting in, anyway?  They had invitations, we don’t.  We’re gonna stand out.”

“No, we won’t.”  She grinned.  “Just trust me.  Now what you wanna wear?”

“Uh ... clothes?”

The truth was, he knew what he’d like to wear.  The same thing he’d always wanted: those beautiful dresses, overflowing with elegance and grace, those glittering gowns the human women always wore.  But he couldn’t quite voice that desire.

“Come on, somebody so hung up on not being able to go got’s to have an idea what he wants to wear, right?”

She was right.  Still...  “I don’t know.  Maybe I shouldn’t.” 

Sera was across the room, looking at a pantsuit she’d apparently already picked out.  “Who says?  Wear what you want.”

Well...  glancing round the room, he saw something that caught his eye.  “Something like this.”  Walking over, Seolta took hold of a beautiful Orlesian style ballgown.  “I always wanted something like this.”

Sera shrugged.  “Then wear it.”

“But...”  He turned to her.  “I feel like I shouldn’t.  I mean, I’m a man, right?  I...”

“If you want to wear it, wear it.”

“Even though...?”

Her eyes met his, and she seemed to understand his meaning.

* * *

   
_"Well, everyone,” Thuleka began hesitantly, resting her hands on the top of the war table.  “My brother has something he’d like to say to you all.”  She turned to him, smiled supportively, and squeezed his shoulder before stepping back._

_Mouth dry, Seolta stepped forward and into the center of attention.  “Ah... right.”  He had asked for this, hadn’t he?  It had seemed like a good idea at the time... “Well.  I figured I should tell you guys this, before you found out some other way.  So.  Right.”_

_Clearing his throat, Seolta lifted his head.  “I have a vagina.”_

_The room went cold and quiet.  His sister gave an immediate groan beside him.  “Also, boobs.”  Iron Bull broke into sudden laughter that only quieted when Dorian shoved him.  “But, obviously, as you all know, I am a man.  And if anybody says otherwise, or calls me a woman, or anything like that, I swear that for the rest of my life I will refer to that person as Sir Douchebag the Second, Lord of Piss, forever.”_

_“Seolta,” Thuleka began quietly.  “You know how sometimes I tell you the way you handle things lacks any kind of adult maturity?”_

_Eyebrow quirked, he nodded his head.  “Yeah, I think I see what you’re saying.”_

* * *

 “I just... should men - should a man like me - wear this?”  Seolta asked quietly, lifting the hem of the dress.

Sera looked at it, then back at him.  “Do it.”  She told him.  “Anybody says your less a man - for any reason - I’ll cut their tongue off.”

He grinned, trying to ignore the overwhelming joy and relief flooding him.  “This is why I love you,” Seolta told her, and they both ignored how his voice cracked just a bit.

* * *

 Using her old contacts, Sera had bought them a back way into the Palace.  A little maneuvering, a few discrete attacks on some outside guards (an interesting experience in a dress), and they found themselves at the back entrance of the servant’s quarters.

They were both wearing guady masks, and those wraps around their heads, which disguised not only their faces but their ears.  Looking in the mirror, he had almost mistook himself for an Orlesian noble.

“What’s my name again?”

Sera gave a groan as she fiddled with the lock.  “Forget it.  You’re mute now.  You’re hopeless, you know?  Aren’t you supposed to be a rogue?”

“I am a rogue!  I’m just not great at this fake identity stuff.”

“Like I said,”  Sera began as the door swung open.  “You can be... holy shite.”

The room inside was dimly lit, but by the light of the moon pouring through the open door both elves could see the blood soaking the ground.  Bodies were spread about everywhere... elven bodies, slumped haphazard against walls, fallen where they may.  Not a warrior among them; all servants, who appeared to have been cut down while trying to run...

“What the hell is going on?”  Seolta whispered.  Beside him, Sera’s clenched fists shook.

“Dunno,”  She began.  “But I’m sure as hell finding out.”  She drew two knives from her clothes that had been hidden away, and Seolta followed suit with a determined frown.

“You and me both.”

* * *

 Within the hour, the two of them had cut down dozens of Venatori agents, and were soaked almost head to toe in blood.  Which was why, when Sera moved to enter the main building, Seolta paused.

“We look like we just went on a killing spree!”  He shouted.  “And, well, we did, and don’t you think somebody’s gonna notice?”

“Pfft, no,”  Sera grinned.  “You’ve obviously never met these people.  They won’t notice, and if they do, they won’t say a word.”

She was right.  Not only did no one comment upon their bloody clothes, no one noticed the blood stains on the floor either, or the fidgety, nervous servants who were well aware that many elves had gone missing that night. 

“This is ridiculous!”  He whispered to her. 

“That’s nobles for you, bloody ridiculous.”  Then, she grinned.  “Come on, the night’s not over.  We killed a bunch of baddies, saved some of the little people, and we still have time for a dance!”

“Are you sure?”  He asked her.  “What if there are more of them down there?”

She nodded across the room.  He turned, and saw the familiar form of his sister descending the stairs towards the servant’s quarters.  “Thuleka’s on ‘em now,” Sera said.  “We can relax.”

“Suppose so.”   After a moment, Seolta couldn’t help the grin rising to his face.  “I can’t believe we’re really here!  I feel like a prince.”  Then, flushing, he looked down.  “A prince in a dress, I guess.  Is that okay?”

“You’re a prince, you can do what you want.”  Sera nudged him.  “Stop second guessing!  Now come on, I wanna snag as much grub as I can before the night’s over.”

She grabbed his hand and dragged her off, the grin on his face growing wider with each step.

* * *

 They ate, and they danced, and they ignored the sneers and the subtly insulting comments.  Luckily for them, the night was chaotic enough that there were fewer eyes on them than usual and few if any Imperial guards around to notice the uninvited guests. Seolta spared a thought for his sister and prayed to the Gods for her health and success. 

The room was so beautiful, and the people even more so, like works of art magicked to life somehow.  The food was the best he’d ever had, though he had little; he was so nervous and excited he could barely stomach it. 

But as much fun as he was having with Sera, he couldn’t help but think of two people he’d much rather have had with him.  As he and his partner took a moment to stand and watch the nobles milling about, Sera noticed his distant smile.

“What’s on your mind?”

He turned to her.  “Oh, just thinking of something.”

“Right.  Loverboy, or lovergirl?  Both?”

He flushed at her tone and the waggle of her brow.  “Just... them, in general, I guess.  I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

* * *

  _“Holy shit.”_

_Thuleka glared over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow lifted as if to say, really?  He shrugged, still beaming, because who wouldn’t be after that show?  A gorgeous mage just descended from on high, verbally smacked the shit out of the idiot who’d been accosting his sister, and completely arrested the attention of everyone in the room._

_“Tell her to kill him,” He leaned forward and whispered in his sister’s ears.  “I wanna see her kill him.  Ooh!  Think she’ll make him blow up?”_

_Nudging him back, Thuleka asked the enchantress for mercy, and Seolta couldn’t help a groan.  How boring.  And just when things had been getting interesting.  Still, his eyes drifted to the masked mystery, drawn by the air of grace and composure she wore so easily.  Seolta couldn’t be that composed if his life depended on it.  Even after they left her salon, she was all he could think about._

_“I would thank that woman to step on my face,” Seolta told a chuckling Varric.  “Seriously!  Did you see how she walked?  And the way she told that guy off!  Holy shit, she’s amazing.  Like – like a goddess in the flesh.  The kind of woman smarty pants types write poetry about!”_

_“And will you?”_

_“What?”_

_Sly, the dwarf glanced at him.  “Write poetry about her?  You’re clearly smitten.”_

_The man flushed scarlet.  “Oh, I - I couldn’t.  I’m no poet.  I mean… come on, she’s a high born lady.  She could do so much better than me.”_

_Still, the idea had been lodged in his head, and he couldn’t shake it.  So, a week later found him approaching the woman in Haven’s church, hands shaking slightly so that the paper held in them crackled.  Biting his lip, the man hesitated a little ways away.  He watched her speak to someone else for a moment, awaiting his chance to step up to her.  But in those few moments, watching her mannerisms, her careful manner of speech, her elegant clothes, to her smooth, unblemished skin, his heart sunk lower and lower._

_He looked down to his own trembling limbs, marked with scars upon scars, a veritable constellation of old wounds covered by baggy, ragged clothes, and grimaced.  Disappointment and anger warring in his heart, he balled up the stupid poem and tossed it away, cursing under his breath._

_As he walked off, he failed to notice the balled up paper tumbling across the room, and into the Lady de Fer’s line of sight._

_He did not see her again until a battle a few days later.  They were scouting the Hinterlands, a team of four with Seolta as its leader, as per Thuleka’s orders.  She’d placed in his command Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne.  Though he was nervous, Seolta resigned himself to it, at least happy he hadn’t embarrassed himself by actually reading the damn thing to her._

_They had been traveling for a few hours mostly peacefully save for the banter tossed back and forth between the Seeker and the dwarf, when the dragon appeared._

_“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”  Seolta couldn’t help but grin despite himself as he leapt over and around the discordant rocks.  Behind him, the beast gave a roar as it followed after, no longer in the sky but still quite deadly.  He’d struck it through the wing with a bolt attached by a cord to his wrist, and used his recoil device to fly up to the thing, dig his daggers in deep, and then drop, tearing two long stripes through the tender flesh.  It was not happy with him._

_“Come on, you ugly lizard!”  Seolta glanced back.  “Come and get me!”  Then he ducked and rolled to the left as a flare of fire erupted from the beast._

_“Seolta!”  The elf’s head lifted.  In the distance he saw Varric firing at the thing, as Cassandra charged it’s back.  “What the hell are you doing?”_

_“I don’t know!”  He laughed.  “I’m working on it!”  But wait… where was Vivienne?  Glancing to the left, he finally found her – facing down the beast from one side, while Cassandra attacked the other.  Seolta’s eyes widened in shock and fear.  Whatever plan he’d been unconsciously formulating – and certainly there had been one – it had not been this._

_“What are you doing?”  He barreled over to them, only to be cut off by a drakeling.  Grimacing, he tore into its flesh hard and fast, desperate to keep moving._

_“We’re working together, something you might recognize if you did it more often!”  Cassandra barked at him.  Flushing scarlet, Seolta grimaced as dragon’s blood flew in an arc over his head.  The drakeling fell down dead._

_“Yeah, well – I’ve not had much practice at it.”  He raced over to them, heading Vivienne’s way.  He slid to a halt beside her.  “You should head up the hills, quick!”_

_“What for?”  She cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Someone must kill it, if you will not!”_

_“I am killing it!”  He swore under his breath.  “I was just trying to lure it away from all of you!”_

_“That is not how a team works!”  Cassandra shouted at his back.  He had to duck and dodge a swing of the beast’s claw before he could try to reply.  But his words died in his throat when he glanced in front of him._

_Vivienne had not seen the blow coming fast enough – she’d been knocked down, and appeared dazed by the look of it.  Behind her, some distance away, a drakeling had noticed her weakness, and was barreling towards her.  Fury alit in his throat._

_The man glanced round, reloaded his crossbow, and backed away a few feet.  “Cassandra!”  He shouted to her.  “Lend me your sword!”_

_“What?”_

_“Just do it!”  He tossed her a dagger in return, and it clattered to the ground in front of her.  Cursing, the woman gave in and threw the sword his way.  No sooner than she had thrown it, Seolta aimed his crossbow up at the beast.  It had stepped forward in trying to attack him, and now its vulnerable neck was just above him, though out of reach.  The bolt flew towards that naked spot, and hit home.  But that wouldn’t be enough._

_The bolt was attached to his second cord, in his right wrist, and as soon as the sword Cassandra had thrown landed in his hand, Seolta hit the button.  He rocketed skyward, Cassandra’s sword aimed straight up, and it slid right into the spot the bolt had weakened, upwards into the beast’s skull.  It gave a fierce roar of pain then, but Seolta paid it little mind._

_Scowling, he turned his head, and saw the drakeling closing in on the still recovering Vivienne.  It would be on her soon… he snapped the end of the cord and pushed off the falling beast’s body, falling towards the ground.  The drakeling didn’t notice him fast enough.  He landed atop it and dug his dagger into its torso, dragging it down with him as his momentum pulled him down.  Something cracked, he felt the tremor and the pain of it whited his vision.  But he held to the blade, keeping the beast with him at all costs._

_“Seolta!”_

_A blast of ice cold flew over him, and the beast fell still.  A moment later he blinked and found himself looking up into Vivienne’s wide, concerned eyes._

_“You’re okay…”  He muttered, then coughed.  Something wet came out of his mouth._

_“And you are a reckless, foolish, maddening man.”  The mage scowled at him._

_“You sound like my sister.”  He thought she said something else; but his vision faded and so did he, and quickly he fell asleep.  When he’d awoken next, he’d been startled to find her sitting at his bedside._

_She scowled at him, arms crossed.  Seolta returned her look with a weak grin from his bed.  “Are you going to start with the insults again?”_

_Vivienne shook her head.  “The next time you wish to impress a woman, I recommend speaking to her rather than getting yourself killed fighting a dragon.”_

_The man flushed to his ears.  “What?  I – I didn’t –“_

_The mage just smirked knowingly, the harsh look in her eyes softening.  “And I very much enjoyed the poetry.”_

_If possible, he turned redder.  “I … oh.”  Seolta would never admit that his voice squeaked then.  “Was it good?”_

_The smirk softened into a genuine smile.  “It was awful.”_

_“… oh.”_

_“And genuine.”  She leaned forward.  “You meant every word, didn’t you?”_

_Nervous, Seolta glanced away, and licked his lips.  “Uh, yeah.  Of course.  I don’t say anything I don’t mean."  
_

_For a moment she simply watched him, eyes darting over his face.  “Ten days hence.”_

_He blinked.  “Sorry, what?”_

_“Ten days.  That should give you time enough to recover, and prepare a suitable locale for us.”_

_“For … us?  Us, what?”_

_As she stood, she turned and grinned at him.  “Our first date, of course.”  Then she sauntered from the room, and he watched in hypnotic astonishment as she did._

 TBC

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was to have multiple chapters which detailed the events of the ball and some of Seolta's past. But as I've played the game, my concept of his character, his relationships, and the universe have changed and evolved drastically. This story doesn't really fit my universe anymore, though I still love it and a lot of it does apply (especially the history stuff).
> 
> I will definitely return to the Ball one day, and write more of it, but this version of the story will have to remain unfinished.


End file.
